


One Week

by Thatmalu



Category: IT (1990), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: But not explicit, Childhood Trauma, Date Night, F/M, Living Together, M/M, Mentioned Alvin Marsh, Mentioned Pennywise (IT), Mentioned Sonia Kaspbrak, Mild Language, Multi, OT7, Past Child Abuse, Poly Losers Club Fic Exchange, Poly!Losers, Polyamorous Losers Club (IT), Suggestive Themes, Young Adult Losers Club (IT)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27879734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatmalu/pseuds/Thatmalu
Summary: Beverly is still working through the shame instilled in her from a young age; she spends a week working through those feelings, one day -- and one Loser -- at a time.My gift for the Poly Losers Club Fic Exchange Vol. 3!
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon/Ben Hanscom/Eddie Kaspbrak/Beverly Marsh/Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Comments: 9
Kudos: 37
Collections: Poly Losers Club Fic Exchange Vol.3





	One Week

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I hope the wonderful person this is gifted to enjoys this fic! Ngl, OT7 is a tough juggle so I hope I did your prompt justice!
> 
> I wanna thank the angry pixie for inviting me to this challenge after they rec'd my other poly!Losers fic! Thank you so much, and I hope to keep writing and expanding poly losers stuff.

Things were supposed to be more simple once the seven Losers were living together. The Brooklyn townhome had four bedrooms, which was enough if any of them needed a break from the others and wished to have a night to themselves. Considering how _large_ their group was, this was understandable. However, none of them ever really seemed to _need_ a break. Beverly watched with awe as days went on in their new home and the men never stopped _touching_ each other, never got sick of each other. It was endearing. Sweet.

Daunting.

“We should all get a ‘me’ day,” Beverly suggested over breakfast one morning. “There’s seven of us, so each of us having our own special day would be really nice.”

Just as Mike and Ben started to speak, likely to protest and insist they did not _need_ a special day for themselves, Richie piped in, “Every day is Richie day to me, Bev.”

“Why is that not surprising?” Stan muttered into his drink.

“I think she means a day to ourselves,” Eddie said. “I love you all, but I, for one, wouldn’t mind some peace and goddamn quiet just one day a week.”

“Just a day for some space,” Beverly nodded, looking around the kitchen and hoping she wasn’t offending anyone. “It would be healthy.”

“What if I don’t want space?” Richie asked, looking actually quite sincere. 

“Then it’s still your day to do what you want,” Mike smiled, clapping Richie on the shoulder. 

“You know you don’t _need_ to schedule a day like that, right Beverly?” Bill asked from beside her. “You won’t hurt anyone’s feelings by just asking.”

“No, I know that,” Beverly assured him, though feeling a little anxious. 

“To add to both of your points,” Ben began. “We should all be open about stuff like that. _However,_ having a scheduled day for privacy to unwind or -- maybe in Richie’s case, get pampered,” he added with a smirk, receiving a wink from Richie. “That could help stop any built up tension and guarantee us some times in our busy schedules for all of us to focus on our well beings. Like, school might not make me want to cry as much if I know there’s one day a week I can either have dinner made for me or just sleep in a bed by myself. I’m not naming names, but two of you are kickers.”

“It’s a good idea for now,” Stan agreed. “While we’re still learning to live with each other. Maybe it’ll work for the best, maybe we’ll figure out something better, but it’s a good strategy for now.”

“Eddie, get your white board,” Mike suggested.

Eddie actually had about a dozen white boards, but he knew the one Mike was referring to. It had been purchased (in vain) to keep track of everyone’s medications for Eddie’s own sanity. Since Bill purchased Eddie a day-of-the-week pill box, Eddie retired the dry erase weekly planner and did his best to trust the others with their own care. Now it seemed that they found a new purpose for it.

“Ok, what should I write on it?” Eddie asked, looking at Beverly.

Beverly felt a little on the spot, but she supposed she could answer since it was her suggestion in the first place. However, she wanted to phrase everything as delicately as she could. In truth, she was feeling very anxious about the relationship she had with the other Losers. It wasn’t that she didn’t love or trust any of them, but ever since they all moved in together she could hear voices in her head.

Those voices weren’t without a genesis. All of them stemmed from her childhood and upbringing; nasty voices from her father or bullies in her school. 

_Whore. Slut. Tramp._

For some reason, the rumors started long before even hanging out with her best friends, but hearing them had suppressed any attempts at building real relationships with them. She grew to love them all and felt ashamed of herself until the news broke out among them that Richie, Eddie, and Stan had all been seeing each other in private.

This, in turn, broke the news that Mike and Bill had been seeing each other privately, and Stanley had admitted to being with them _both_ in secret before being with Richie and Eddie. All of this snowballed into the seven of them all eventually realizing how much they all loved each other and didn’t want to be with anyone else. Beverly figured if it was ok for them, why wouldn’t it be ok for her, too? Her anxieties subsided while they saw each other in their early years of college, until Bill used his first book deal to purchase his lovers a place to live. 

Living together like this felt so… public. Which, really, shouldn’t have mattered, but Beverly felt her negative feelings resurface and take hold of her thoughts. She had been thinking about solutions to suppress these emotions when this new idea came up. 

“Well, first we should assign everyone a day of the week,” Beverly started. “Then, week by week, depending on how we feel, we can make notes on the calendar for what we want on our day.”

“Saturday, please,” Stan said.

“Why do you get a weekend?” Ben scoffed playfully.

“Sabbath,” Stan shrugged. “Preferably, I’d get Friday night through Saturday, but it’s fine.”

“Can I have Monday?” Mike asked shyly. 

“Who wants _Monday?”_ Richie chuckled. 

“M for Mike.”

“That’s adorable,” Bill laughed, shaking his head at Mike. “I’ll take Wednesday then for William.”

Eventually, everyone had a day on the calendar that they were satisfied with.

> _Monday -- Mike_
> 
> _Tuesday -- Ben_
> 
> _Wednesday -- Bill_
> 
> _Thursday -- Richie_
> 
> _Friday -- Eddie_
> 
> _Saturday -- Stan_
> 
> _Sunday -- Beverly_

“Are you sure you don’t want another day, Bev?” Ben asked, just as Stan wrote _“SILENCE!”_ in bold letters on his day. “It’s Sunday today and it’s already almost noon.”

“I can wait,” Beverly assured him. 

“Positive? It was your idea.”

“Absolutely.”

So now she had a day. Beverly wasn’t exactly sure _what_ she was going to do with her day, but she beamed as she watched the others cram around Eddie and write all over the calendar. Just as she was laughing while Eddie erased ‘blowjobs from everyone’ from Richie’s day, Mike gently tapped her on the shoulder.

“Hey, Beverly, do you mind if I steal you tomorrow?” he asked.

“Tomorrow? On your day?”

“Yeah,” Mike smiled. “Well, I just think this was a really sweet idea and I wanted to take my day to thank you. I feel like it’s a lot for you to put up with all of us clowns.”

“Who you callin’ a clown?” Richie piped up.

“Mike, you don’t have to do that,” Beverly told him.

“Are you denying the man what he wants on his day?” Bill teased, nudging her arm.

“No no no, it’s not a demand,” Mike sighed. It didn’t _need_ to be said, of course. None of them disrespected each other's boundaries or became offended by anything the others didn’t want. With seven people involved in a relationship, all of them were bound to have different quirks, needs, and even kinks. So there was always a lot of communication and checking for consent, no matter how small the action seemed to be. Nothing was ever expected of anyone and Beverly appreciated Mike’s concerns.

“I know it’s not,” Beverly told him kindly, kissing him on the cheek. “But I would _love_ to go, Mikey.”

“Honest to Maturin, Bev, you deserve all seven days,” Ben chuckled. “There is one brain cell among us, and you seem to always have it.”

“Actually,” Richie mused. “If you’d like, Bev, I can take you out on my day.”

“Make it Beverly week!” Bill exclaimed.

 _“What?”_ Bev choked. “Guys, you don’t -- that’s not _necessary.”_

“But you do deserve it,” Stan said fondly, smiling over at her. “Then you get all Sunday to kick us out and pamper yourself.”

“Come to think of it, I don’t think we’ve ever gone out just the two of us,” Mike said thoughtfully to Beverly. 

“Is this something we can do for everyone?” Richie asked. “Birthday week, everyone gets a one on one each day and then a big blow out with everyone!”

“Hold on, take it easy!” Bill laughed. “One new thing at a time.”

“I can’t insist you all do this,” Beverly tried again. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to, but Eddie hadn’t said anything yet, and she didn’t want him to feel forced to spend his day with her. If anything, she could insist to him that he didn’t owe her anything in private, if he was worried about what the others would think. Maybe she’d get a chance to talk to him when his day came. For now, she would focus on the others. 

*******

On Monday, Mike took Beverly out to a quirky coffee shop/bookstore she had never heard of before. When they arrived, Beverly started to think about all the different places she had not yet been able to explore. She was still in awe of New York City and it’s never ending list of places she still hadn’t visited even after four years living here since leaving Derry. As she sat in a booth, Mike ordered them coffees, and she spotted a tortie cat sleeping on a bookshelf.

“That is precious,” Bev cooed as Mike sat down with their drinks. “Makes the place feel so homey.”

“Yeah, I really love coming here,” Mike beamed. “I’ve only been with Bill and Stan before.”

Beverly took a sip of her coffee and was surprised by the hint of vanilla she could taste. She looked up and Mike was smiling knowingly at her. “You’ve got my coffee order memorized?”

“You all like something different,” Mike shrugged. “Ben enjoys a medium roast, black. Richie usually goes nuts for the chocolate, sugary iced drinks. Bill gets a caramel macchiato. Eddie likes anything with cinnamon in it. Stan always takes tea. You get vanilla lattes.”

Beverly smiled fondly at Mike, enamored by the attention he took to detail in all of his relationships. He had always been so thoughtful and reserved; timid even, at times. Beverly thinks that coming to New York was the best thing for Mike. Since coming here, she had watched him blossom and branch out his interests, learning more about himself than Derry would have ever allowed him to. In truth, this was what she wanted out of this date; she wanted to hear Mike talk about himself, as he rarely took the opportunity to do so.

“I’m always hearing about Richie, Eddie, or Stan’s days,” Beverly prompted. “Not that I mind, but I want you to tell me what’s going on with you, Mikey.”

Even when he was talking, Mike kept Beverly so engaged and involved in the conversation. This wasn’t a luxury she had growing up. Her father often sought to silence her unless it was something _he_ wanted to hear. So much love shone from Mike, for Beverly, for their boyfriends, for the work he did as his internship at the library. He radiated such warmth, Beverly couldn’t bear to look away or break the smile on her face the rest of the afternoon. 

When they finished their coffees and croissants, Beverly and Mike looked around the shelves for books to read. They settled down into a large, cozy armchair side by side with their own separate books in hand. She rested her head on Mike’s broad chest, relishing the simple noises of the shop and Mike’s breathing while they cherished the silence together. 

*******

Since Tuesday was Ben’s day, Beverly was not surprised in the slightest when he had already arranged a candlelit dinner at some pasta bar called Sola in Manhattan. It was private, romantic; hell, there were even violins playing. Beverly and Ben always had a good balance for conversation; he had been the first one she had gone out on a real date with, just the two of them awkwardly sharing an armrest in the Aladdin theater back home. 

Back then, she felt like he was the only one who really saw her romantically. It was daunting to tell him she liked him back, out of that fear deep inside of her of being caught with a boy out on a date. People already knew she hung out with six boys all the time growing up, but if she was caught with _one_ of them on a date, they’d surely think she was dating all of them.

Which, technically _now_ she was, but that wasn’t the point. She wasn’t afraid of being with them; she was afraid of the repercussions and how she would be _seen._

Ben always had an amazing way of making her feel like the only person in the room, though. She supposed he was like that with the rest of them, too, when they’d have their private moments. He knew how to take a simple moment and orchestrate it into a symphony of romance. He knew how to make everyone feel so goddamn _special,_ and he was doing it all again tonight. 

He stared at Beverly all night like she was his entire _world._

Part of her wondered if he ever resented waiting for her. Though she had dated him first, she had been intimate with almost all the others first, save Bill, and it was in part because some sick part of her didn’t feel _chaste_ enough for him. As though he deserved better than that. 

After too many glasses of wine, Beverly knew they wouldn’t fool around tonight, but she had enough confidence to ask him the question in the short walk from the subway to their townhome. 

“Why would you think such a thing?” Ben asked her, confusion on his face. “I didn’t say anything to upset you, did I?”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Beverly slurred sheepishly. “I just -- you’re always so patient, and such a traditionally romantic man -- ”

“Traditionally romantic?” Ben intoned with a laugh. “Bev, need I remind you I regular have sex with five other men?”

Beverly opened her mouth for moment and felt incredibly stupid. “I wasn’t really thinking of it like that.”

“Look,” he said, pulling her close to him. “If it didn’t feel right, then it wasn’t. Doesn’t matter what you did with anyone else. You were honest with wanting to wait and we did. Doing it when we _wanted_ to was what made it perfect.”

She grinned dopily up at him, his shoulders impossibly broad and muscled where her arms wrapped around him. “I love you, Ben Handsome.”

Ben chuckled at her silly gaffe and kissed her forehead. “I love you too, Bev.”

*******

“I swear, I had no idea,” Bill stammered apologetically as they left the theater. “The guy promised me they’d be real. I swear I thought he was a straight dude.”

“Maybe being straight was the problem,” Bev winked. The joke seemed to fly straight over Bill’s head in his dismay.

“They’ll never let us go back to the Eugene again.”

“Bill, stop being so _dramatic,_ please,” Bev pleaded, taking his hand and walking him down the sidewalk. “Besides, _Death of a Salesman_ sounds so goddamn depressing.”

Bill made some sort of noncommittal grunt as he allowed Beverly to pull him along. He then mumbled, “Let me at least take us to get something to eat.”

That something, as it turned out, would be McDonalds. Along with accidentally receiving scalped tickets from his coworker, Bill had also somehow lost his wallet or left it at home. Since he had insisted Beverly didn’t bring hers, all he had was a five dollar bill.

They split a Happy Meal.

“This is the exact thing you and I had after we fucked the first time,” she said casually as she munched on some fries.

Thankfully, Bill finally broke out of his gloom and chuckled as he reminisced with her. “Shit, you remember that? Christ, what an _awful_ date.”

“Not so awful,” Bev beamed at him as he sipped coke through the little striped straw. “It was nice and simple; just like this.”

“You deserved a better night than this,” Bill sighed.

“Bill, it’s _your_ night!” Beverly exclaimed. “Let yourself be happy! I love you to death, but we can’t turn every mishap into a self-pity party, ok?”

It came out more harshly than she had intended and she was about to apologize when Bill smiled brightly at her. Bill could get down quickly, but he could pick himself up just as well. When his mood improved, Bill was extraordinarily optimistic and cheerful. 

And simple. 

Bill always had these bizarre stories in his head, full of blood and death, usually ending in anything but a happily ever after. However, once it was all leaked out of his brain and formed into ink, you would never know. Bill could be the very definition of pleasant. Patient, too; he had been the last one to be with Beverly after some hesitance and fear of her rejecting him. Which, of course, was silly, considering she hadn’t rejected him in any other way, but she understood that sense of poor self-worth all too well. After assuring him that she wasn’t just with them all because they were _there,_ that she genuinely loved him and the rest of them deep down, he started to accept _all_ of them more freely than he had before. Somehow being with each other always helped them love themselves a little bit more, too. 

“You’re right. I’m being a big baby. We should be having fun. Oh, and -- ” He pulled out some -- _thing_ \-- some odd animalistic creature from the box, wrapped in plastic. “We get a fun toy.”

“Is that a cat?” Beverly laughed.

“It’s a… _pick-ah-choo?”_

“Weird. Give it to Richie.”

*******

It was no surprise at all that Richie took her to an adult arcade. It wasn’t Dave & Busters, but Beverly kept calling it that and Richie gave up correcting her at a certain point. 

“What’s the point of getting all these tickets when you can just _buy_ all that shit for much less money in a store?”

“Bev, it’s not about the prize, it’s about the _journey_ through the games.”

Beverly rolled her eyes, but took the bait, tossing another skeeball. A small thrill shot through her as her ball bounced up until it sunk right back down into the ten-pointer hole.

“This is why we can’t have anyone with a pussy around,” Richie teased, shaking his head. “You miss the right hole.”

“What the _fuck,_ Richie?” Beverly spat, doubling over in laughter. “That is such _bullshit;_ I have no issues pegging you fuckers.”

“Only because there’s nothing to _miss,”_ Richie winked. “We all have _one_ option. You, on the other hand, are very particular about what goes where -- ”

“Ok, _ok!”_ Beverly shrieked. 

Fuck, did she miss one-on-one time with Richie. Richie was the epitome of _fun,_ and never in a malicious or mean way; his life goal was simply to make everyone around him laugh and smile as much as humanly possible. She could remember back before any of them were really dating, when the two of them went down to Bassey Park and learned to Lindy hop for the sheer amusement of the others. 

When Beverly was much smaller -- around ten or eleven -- she wasn’t ready to tell anyone about what was going on at home. Richie had come down to the clubhouse one afternoon to look for a comic book and found her there crying alone in the dark. Even with the best intentions, the others would’ve probably pestered her about what was wrong. Richie knew well enough she couldn’t bear it right then and there. So instead, he made her laugh. 

It was surprisingly easy for him to turn her tears into genuine joy in the span of a few minutes. Shit as he had been with his impressions back then, he could always find her funny-bone. _Get off a good one,_ he’d call it. The two of them would proceed to smoke their Winstons and make up silly stories about strangers they’d see in the park; a game they still played whenever they were out together.

They had both quit smoking long ago, but they grabbed some beers at the bar and began to orchestrate a story for the frustrated family of four eating at a booth nearby. Beverly was all giggles the rest of the night; Richie wasn’t just a distracting presence, but one of genuine joy and sincerity. 

As Richie got older, he had become better at _reading the room,_ and Beverly caught him several times leaving an opening for her to talk about what was bothering her this week. But the fact was, Beverly was starting to remember just how _wrong_ all of her insecurities were. Just being with her Losers and taking her time to enjoy each one of them was reminding her that no one else outside their bubble mattered.

*******

There were two days left with the Losers now. Most of them were in post-graduate studies, and by the time the evening came along only Beverly and Eddie remained in the house after Richie left to work at the radio station. Beverly was waiting patiently with Eddie in the living room when she realized that he wasn’t going to come up with a plan.

“Plan for what?” Eddie asked, much too focused on Sudoku. 

“Eddie, it’s Friday,” she pressed gently. “It’s your day. Did you want to do anything?”

A strange look briefly flashed across Eddie’s face, his eyebrows knit together as he blinked rapidly in what Beverly assumed was mock-surprise. “Oh. Right. I forgot.”

“Well, I’m going to probably take a bath. What are you going to do?” She hadn’t actually planned on taking a bath, but she wanted him to understand she wasn’t expecting anything from him, not for _her._ Not on _his_ day, after all. 

It was in this new, stunned silence that Beverly began to realize she hadn’t really been alone with Eddie for a very long time. She wasn’t sure why that was, but she had a suspicion that it made him uncomfortable. However, what he said next wasn’t what she expected.

“I don’t have any hobbies.”

“Oh -- wait, what?”

Eddie sighed and carefully closed his puzzle book, letting his pencil roll off of the table to the floor. The right side of his body twitched awkwardly, as if on reflex, like it was trying to pick the pencil up with the arm he had been missing since they were teenagers fending off a shape-shifting monster from outer space. It was strange how he sometimes still did that, despite missing the appendage for nearly a decade now and having gone throughout his entire puberty without it.

“I don’t really… _do_ anything,” Eddie mumbled. “I have no excuses to go out other than school or work and I hardly do anything in the house. I have no idea what to do with myself on this… _me day.”_

“Well, what’s something you might want to try?”

The last place Beverly expected to be tonight with Eddie Kaspbrak was at a Wine & Paint night. Eddie drinking wine was one thing -- even if he drank it with a fucking _ice cube,_ to both Beverly and Stan’s loathing -- but painting just didn’t seem to fit him.

Until Bev peeked over at the sheer _masterpiece_ he had created, even while sloppy drunk on watered down pinot gris. It made her want to throw her stick figured nightmare into a bonfire.

“How and when did you get so goddamn good at this shit?” Beverly asked him in awe later, staring at his work on a park bench, long after hers had been _accidentally_ dropped down a subway grate. 

“Honestly, I think I’m supposed to be left handed,” Eddie muttered. “My handwriting is still chicken-scratch, but it’s a lot easier to draw and stuff now that I’m not using the right one. It would make sense. My mom found everything wrong with me and tried to correct it, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she _corrected_ that, too. As far as everything else... ” Eddie trailed off, staring out in front of him at nothing. 

“Nothing is wrong with you, Eddie,” Bev assured him, setting his painting aside. “Your mom was just…”

“Crazy,” Eddie finished. “I know.”

“My dad certainly wouldn’t have approved of my relationships,” Beverly chuckled humorlessly. 

“Your dad was a fucking asshole,” Eddie said bluntly. “He treated you like shit. Now you’re with five guys that treat you amazingly, like you deserve.”

“Thanks, but…” she turned and looked at him carefully. “Who is the sixth person and why are you excluding them?”

Eddie sighed, slumping down where he sat. “I’m not a good boyfriend to you, Bev.”

“Bullshit.”

“Beverly. I’m gay. I am very gay.” His voice shook a little as he said it. “Why do you think we haven’t -- you know -- since, like, high school? Literally the once was the only time and I… it’s not that I don’t find you pretty or attractive even, Bev, I promise I just… can’t. Maybe my mom just fucked me up too much to be with a woman, even one as great as you.”

“That’s bullshit,” Bev told him. “Your mom has nothing to do with the fact that you’re gay. Just like all the bullshit with my dad has nothing to do with you guys and how much I love you or why. Eddie, you don’t have to have sex with me. That’s not a requirement for a relationship.”

Eddie frowned and looked up at her. His eyes were a little glazed over, cheeks flushed from his alcohol, but he was plenty coherent. He seemed to be taking in what she was saying, so she continued.

“I love you, Eddie. Just as much as the others. None of our relationships are the same, no combination of anyone in our group works the same way. But, you don’t have to call me or think of me as anything that makes you uncomfortable. I’ll understand.”

He blinked slowly at her, taking all of this in. After a moment, he got up, only to pick up the painting on the other side of where Beverly sat and sit on that side of her so he could wrap his arm around her and pull her into a hug. She could’ve sworn she saw a tear fall down his cheek before kissing the top of her head, but she didn’t say anything.

“I love you, Bevvie.”

“I love you too, Eddie.”

*******

Going out with Stan was perfect for a morning with a hangover. All he wanted to do was hike out in Westchester and do some bird watching. It was simply _relaxing,_ and Beverly felt a unique calm wash over her as she stood in the morning sun, letting it beat down on her skin and fill her with warmth.

“Tuck your pants into your socks, sweetheart,” Stan murmured as he tied his shoe. “You’ll get ticks on your legs.”

“Would your parents approve of this?” Bev asked absently, watching in adoration as Stan jotted down some bird species in his notebook he had spotted. “Hiking on your holy day?”

“My parents don’t much approve of anything I do,” Stan deadpanned. “The Sabbath should be about celebrating God and his creations. Taking a hike and enjoying nature in its most basic form, appreciating all of its splendor, should be how we worship our creator. Besides, Sabbath probably means fuck all now that I know God is actually a giant fucking turtle.”

Bev snorted at that, briefly distracted by thoughts of what Maturin could be up to right now. It was easy to forget again as her and Stan sat by a babbling brook like a Frog and Toad book cover, relaxing shoulder-to-shoulder against a large oak. They were both around the same size, fitting very comfortably together in the shade and enjoying the sounds of nature around them. Beverly could almost say she got lost in her thoughts, but her mind had slipped into a quiet calm.

“What are you going to do with your day, Bev?” Stan asked softly, taking her hand in his own and gently placing it in his lap. 

Tomorrow was her day. The whole point of her suggesting this whole situation in the first place was finally here and Beverly didn’t know what to make of it. In truth, with the week she just had, her anxieties had fizzled out. There was no more stress thinking about tomorrow or waiting for the next one to come. Now that she was here, it didn’t really matter. She could spend it on her own, or with any of the men in her lives, and she’d still be comfortable and happy. That’s all that she really was looking for in the first place, and it had been here all along waiting for her to remember.

Beverly spent the week contemplating all she had been through in life and how it had led her here. Here was what mattered. She was happy and fulfilled and she couldn’t help but crudely think, _fuck the rest._ She rested her head on Stan’s shoulder, smiling contentedly when she felt the weight on his head rest against hers. “Let’s just focus on today.”

**Author's Note:**

> Will be adding to the Vol. 3 collection once it is up!


End file.
